Talking Like An Angel
by la triste
Summary: When looking for true love, where do you go? How about the room of requirements? False rumors, snogs, and misconstrued stereotypes galore. DracoGinny. RR
1. Room of Requirements

**Disclaimer:** The characters and setting don't belong to me. The song Talking Like An Angel doesn't belong to me. They belong to JKR and Beth Thornley, respectively. What might belong to me, though, is the way in which the characters and settings are used for my own amusement. Tee hee.

**Notes:** This is my first attempt at chaptered fics, and I'm rather anxious posting it. Note that the characterization of various characters *cough*Ginny*cough* may change as the story progresses. 

**Also, make sure you note the chapter title…they give clues as to what the chapter is about…

In other news… I will worship and honor and start a religion in your name if you review. Well…at least give you a nice big thank you. 

**Contacting the Author: **

e-mail: praeludium104@yahoo.com

livejournal: www(dot)livejournal(dot)com/~la_triste

**Talking Like An Angel ** Chapter I: Room of Requirements (Or) First Impressions Can Be Deceiving 

-+-

" Am I in the library?" 

Those were the first 5 words that she ever spoke to me. 

I was sitting at a table, and yes, there were a few bookcases that surrounded me. 

" No." I was annoyed. A small, red headed girl who looked like she had been outside in the cold too long—her chapped lips and wind-slapped rosy cheeks along with her tangled hair; that was what she was. I also got the impression that she must not visit the library often, because if she did, then she would know that the library was **not located on this floor. **Idiot.

" Where am I?" Her eyebrows quirked inward as a sign of brief confusion, but her dry lips curved upwards in an amused smile. I immediately disliked her smile.

_No,_ I glared. _It's not the least bit funny_. 

" You're here." I bit out impatiently. 

" Where's _here_?" 

" The room of requirements." My answer insinuated that the former was quite obvious. But her pink lips formed an o, and she looked pleasantly surprised. She was like someone in one of those perfect stories that you read to little children, where everyone is perfectly polite and proper and disgustingly perfect. The kind of people you want to kick in the shins just to see what they'll do. This isn't sadistic of me at all—because people like them are unrealistic and don't need to be written about. Who the heck cares about perfect people, anyway?

" The room of requirements, huh?" She gushed. " Oh, I haven't been here forever! Funny that I should end up in here." She mused, grinning to herself. 

I, on the other hand, was not smiling. Was not even considering it. I was grinding my teeth together in irritation, the same kind of irritation that every Gryffindor caused from me. And judging from the way she was smiling at me, she probably did not know who I was. If I had known just what kind of girl the little red head was, I probably would have run away right there and then. 

" Are you studying in here?" 

The trait of being overly peppy (see _Gryffindor_) seemed to almost always be followed by idiocy. Grinding my teeth just a bit more, I managed to glare up at her from my sheet of papers—

" _No_," I answered as dully as possible. " I'm making a nice, long list of all the horrible, mean things I can do to make people cry." Sarcasm has always been my forte. I knew my lips were tight and scrunched up, and that only happened when I was aggravated. The point of being in the room of requirements, was to be _alone_, so that I might finish my mountain load of homework in peace and quiet. 

" Oh." She murmured, and her smile drooped a little. I began to smirk in satisfaction—but truth be told, she looked frightfully intimidated by me, and I realized how small she looked just then. That was my first perception of her—a shy, mousy girl who even I felt a little guilty when wiping the smile off her face—but I hadn't really known who she was back then; didn't know much about her at all.

_No more of that for now…save your insults for some other poor little child._ Sometimes, I really hated my Good Conscience, because it always decided to peep in at the most inconvenient of times. I was taken by surprise, anyway, for it was such a rare visit.

" I'm trying to finish my homework." I said tiredly, trying to keep all edginess out of my voice. She nodded, and let a soft smile grace her face, but she didn't seem too keen on talking again. 

" And since I was here first, and this is _my_ private library—I have the authority to inquire as to why _you're _here." I folded my arms across my chest and squinted up at her standing figure. 

_Please, have an invalid reason so I can kick you out of here…please…_

" Well…" She bit her lip, as if in thought. Rolling her tongue around her mouth, she looked up at the ceiling. My teeth were grinding again: she talked too slow for my tastes.

" I remember I was with Neville—and then we heard Filch and his cat of his, Mrs. Norris rounding the corner, so we both scrammed, and I ran in the direction of the room of requirement." She looked at me and shrugged.

" I thought it was a broom closet, at first." She explained, almost apologetically. 

I rolled my eyes, and bit the inside of my cheek to stop from saying anything that would affront her. I just wanted her out of here. Now. 

Now, usually—like, say, if it had been Potter or one of his fellow morons, I would have had no hesitation in rudely telling them prance the hell away. 

But I must have been having a horrible, absurd day, because I was too tired to even think properly, and therefore did not have the will to think of a way to get her out of my private space. I'm sure I merely sat there, looking too dumbfounded for a Malfoy. Let me say, it isn't every day someone walks in _my_ room of requirements.

And all the while, she waited. Waiting for what? For me to stand up and bow before her, welcoming her into a place I had thought only I knew about? Waiting for me to start some kind of conversation with her? 

When she did nothing but look around ever so innocently, _hmm_ing as she looked at the books on the shelves, I pursed my lips, dropped my pen and opened my mouth to ask her to leave, because she was distracting me. 

" Hey, you—"

" Oh, my god!" But before I could get three words in, she suddenly peered at her watch, small, round mouth dropping in shock. Looking at me frantically, she whispered, " I-I've got to go! I'm late!" 

And without another word, she slipped out of the room as quickly as she had entered, leaving behind a slight scent of strawberries.

I sat at the table, staring at the closed door, frowning. I was not slow—but this…this took a moment to register. Just for the briefest of moments, I wondered if I had fallen into an alternate universe where odd things like this happened all the time.

She comes, annoys the heck out of me, and then leaves, claiming to be 'late' for something. You also have to understand that I, being part of the Malfoy clan, did not exactly welcome such oddities with open arms. 

Shaking my head, as if to shake her out of my thoughts, I muttered, " Good riddance." 

But as I resumed what I had been doing earlier—finishing up my Transfiguration essay—I couldn't help thinking about her, and my fists clenched in an almost anger. She probably thought of me as a complete pansy now—telling all her little friends that Draco Malfoy was nothing to fear. 

My jaw tightened at the thought of it, scolding myself for being such a bird-brain.

But then there was always next time, and next time, I would most definitely show her my wrath. 

Glaring at the door—

I hoped she fell in a very _large_ puddle. 

-+-

**Notes:** Hit the blue button, baby, if you've read the above! Need to know what **you** think of it. Sorry about the quick chapter—next one will be more eventful, but this scene is crucial later on. If I get a lot of reviews, the next chapter will come up within the next day.


	2. Toads, Names and Secrets

**Disclaimer:** The characters and setting don't belong to me. The song Talking Like An Angel doesn't belong to me. They belong to JKR and Beth Thornley, respectively. What might belong to me, though, is the way in which the characters and settings are used for my own amusement. Tee hee.

**Notes:** A BIG thanks to everyone who reviewed last time—made me want to post the second chapter right away…but school got in the way, damn it. Hope you enjoy this one—AND REVIEW!! *is a review zombie*

**Contacting the Author: **

e-mail: praeludium104@yahoo.com

livejournal: www(dot)livejournal(dot)com/~la_triste

**Talking Like An Angel**

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_Chapter II: Toads, Names and Secrets. _

-+-

The second time she ever spoke to me, she was just as frantic as she had been the day in the room of requirements, right before she left.

Except this time, she didn't ask me where she was.

" Have you seen a toad, by chance?" I decided right then that she was very, very eccentric. A toad? Was it usual that a person walking through the halls of his school should spot a toad? 

Looking down at her, I realized just how short she was. She had tugged at my robes a bit anxiously. 

I tried not to look surprised as I squinted down at her and began to answer quite exasperatedly, feeling that she would only desist when I answered her--

" _Ginny!_" I stopped immediately, my eyes falling on Neville Longbottom. He floundered over to where she stood. He looked stricken. The girl in front of me stared at him disbelievingly. 

" What is it, Neville?" She asked, blinking. 

" You're name's Ginny?" I interjected suddenly, something clicking in my head, although I couldn't quite place it at the moment. She looked a bit flustered. A quaint blush flushed over her pale skin.

" Y-Yes." She wrung her hands together, and looked up at me shyly. I raised an eyebrow. She looked very familiar, someone I should be remembering. But before I could ask for a last name, Longbottom cut in.

" Ginny, come on, let's go! Even if Malfoy's seen Trevor, he won't tell us…no use talking to Malfoy…" And he went on as if I weren't there at all. If I hadn't currently been twirling the mystery of the redhead in my head, I would have sniped back at him (meaning, give him a good hexing). Silly Gryffindor twit. Then, the clumsy boy was dragging her off, and there was nothing I could do to stop her.

I watched her retreating figure as she hurried down the corridor. 

The last thing I heard was her speaking.

" **_That's_**_ Draco Malfoy_?" 

I didn't know if I should smile, or frown.

-+-

" Let me see your homework, Pansy." My hands reached over to where she sat, but she slapped it away.

" No." She answered curtly, not lifting an eye from her paper. I groaned, letting my head fall back onto the couch.

" Please?" I hated her, right then. Only Slytherins could make other Slytherins stoop so low to _plead_. The atrocious things she did to my sensitive pride were disturbing. 

" Why should I let you, Draco?" She asked airily, shuffling her papers and looking very, very busy and important.

" Because I need it. I'm tired—and when I'm tired, I cannot think to my regular capacity." 

" Hmm. A frightening thought, your intelligence, or lack thereof, being further reduced…if such a thing is even possible…Yes, I suppose you need your beauty sleep?" I smirked a little. If she was jesting with me, I had a better chance of letting me copy her homework. 

" But of course. Could you live with it if you caused my stunning looks to go down the drain?" I asked almost innocently. She sniggered a little, still refusing to be completely distracted from her work. 

" Oh, _come on_…Pansy…" I let out a note of frustration. "I'm _begging_ you." 

There. I had said the three fatal words. I watched in dull amusement as she looked up, hazel eyes glittering. I knew she was laughing, for I could almost hear her cackling laughter, barely tangible. Then she managed to look serious and stare me straight in the eyes.

" Don't beg, you dullard. Slytherins don't beg." And with that, she handed over her papers. I sighed, a hand reaching up to rumple my loose hair. 

" Fuck you, Parkinson." I whispered to her, but the tone was still half-grateful, and I swore I saw a small smile on her face as I carefully copied down her work.

" But that'll be the last time, Malfoy." She warned. Like she always did. And like always, I waved it away with a nod. Making a face, she muttered, " I'm no Hermione Granger, slaving away at her best friends' expense…you got it?" 

" Yea, yea, sure." I replied easily. When Pansy went into one of her long, bitter rants, it was best to just pretend you were rapt with attention. She eyed me with slight suspicion. Hurrying to change the subject, I coughed.

" So…Hogsmeade trip this weekend—have you noticed?" I asked. Usually, Hogsmeade trips had been reserved for me and me alone—well, of course, those two lugs Crabbe and Goyle always came along, but it had been long since they had started 'boycotting' me, on their fathers' orders. Not that I minded too much. I wasn't such a coward that I couldn't fight for myself. 

So now, I found that most Hogsmeade trips were spent with Pansy Parkinson at the Three Broomsticks, where we made acrimonious remarks to passing students. 

" I can't go." She said simply, furiously scribbling at a particularly engrossing part of her own essay. I blinked at her, disappointment sinking into my stomach. Despite what anyone thought, I didn't mind a companion or two, and Pansy Parkinson was _not_ a whiny, clingy, frivolous girl. Oh, sure she could _act_ like it, just to rile up the Gryffs.

" Why not?" I demanded, nose crinkling in disapproval. She rolled her eyes.

" Because, _stupid_. I'm busy." 

" Busy with what?" I was suddenly curious. " How could you be busy with something other than me?" 

" Pompous prick." She said icily. " What I'm busy with is no business of yours." 

And that was it. I even desisted, though I was still wary of her motives—but her lips were set in a very thin line, her cheeks grew very pale, and that meant _end of discussion_.

Pansy Parkinson really could be scary at times, even for a Malfoy.

I shrugged, supposing that I would either stay at school and study the pants off myself, or stumble into The Three Broomsticks solo, finding droll amusement in ridiculing little first years.

-+-

" Pansy!" I cried her name in aggravation for what seemed like the umpteenth time. " Potter and his cronies just passed our way _again_! And you let them go without an insult, once again!" I was on the verge of being furious with her. Alright—so I wasn't furious because I wasn't up to date on my eternal mission to infuriate everything Potter—but that was part of it. 

Pansy, if possible, had been acting stranger and stranger as the days went by. She seemed dazed and out of place—heck, she had let me cheat off of her 3 more times after the last incident. 

Something was not right, and it didn't take a Malfoy to figure it out. Therefore, I had, of course, already come up with a very well thought out guess as to what it was that distracted her from fulfilling her every day routines (i.e. me, homework with me, arguing with me, making cracks at Potter, cackling, shrieking, and giggling at them). 

She was either currently partaking in a top secret mission that put her in mortal peril…

Or she was _seeing_ someone. 

I really didn't like the latter idea. It wasn't like she was tied to me, because we were _definitely_ not together…more like, I was uncomfortable to the idea that she was sidling up to some **boy**, especially without me knowing who it was.

" And yet again, you're not listening to me." I finished lamely, looking at her blank expression. Feeling rather miffed that my supposed comrade was blatantly ignoring me; I shook my head and stalked off, leaving her to crawl slowly through the corridors. 

As I reached the Slytherin common room, I was immediately reminded of the Hogsmeade trip that day, for the other students were busily buzzing about. Hogsmeade alone, or study until my eyeballs pop out. Hogsmeade, study. Study, Hogsmeade.

Sitting down on a couch in the common room, I glared at the crackling fireplace. 

Damn it.

_Everything _was going wrong.

Life sucked. 

See? When a boy like me is so distressed, even his usual never-ending supply of eloquence leaves him. 

While I sullenly watched the bright orange flame in the fireplace, Pansy finally dragged herself in, looking less dazed than when I had last seen her. Asinine fool. She took one look at me, and looked terribly amused.

" Why are you pouting?" She asked, ignorantly. And I say she was ignorant because she failed to know that _she _was the problem.

" I'm not pouting." I snapped. " Malfoys don't _pout_." 

" Mmm. Now I know something's wrong, because you only give me one of your 'Malfoys don't to this' speech when you're really pissed off." She concluded. 

At this point, I was thoroughly hacked off and no longer wanted to bask in such low feelings. Turning to Pansy desperately, I tried my best to look pitiful.

" Will you go into Hogsmeade with me, then?" I asked. " If you do, then—maybe, just maybe, I might feel better…" 

To no one's surprise, she snorted.

" I've told you before, Malfoy—I'm busy. Go play by yourself." 

I saw how it was.

" Well, I guess I'll just sit here and continue to brood and snap ferociously at anyone who comes my way, Parkinson." I said coldly, annunciating each syllable. " If anyone happens to end up in the hospital soon, I'll say it's all your fault."

" Don't worry, Drakie darling," Pansy cooed, stroking my hair mockingly. " They'll just figure it's _that time of month_." 

I shot daggers at her. The little wench would pay. I would have growled at her a bit more, wounding her pride so mine would feel better—but Crabbe and Goyle never did have impeccable timing, and they came bumbling in at that moment.

I cared not to stay in their presence longer than necessary. Turning my chin upwards, I stared condescendingly down at all of them.

" I'm _going_."

And I stomped away to Hogsmeade alone, resolving not to talk to Pansy ever again—

At least, not until the time came to do my homework.

-+-

A/N: Please, please, please review. 


	3. Hogsmeade

**Disclaimer:** The characters and setting don't belong to me. The song Talking Like An Angel doesn't belong to me. They belong to JKR and Beth Thornley, respectively. What might belong to me, though, is the way in which the characters and settings are used for my own amusement. Tee hee.

**Notes:** More thanks to the kind reviewers. *hands you all Fire and Ice banners* 

**Contacting the Author: **

e-mail: praeludium104@yahoo.com

livejournal: www(dot)livejournal(dot)com/~la_triste

Talking Like An Angel 

_Chapter III: Hogsmeade. _

-+-

I really did hate large crowds. Well, large crowds of idiots, to be more precise, but you get the general idea.

Which is why it was no wonder I was scowling heavily as I trudged _alone_ through Hogsmeade, lost somewhere in the sea that was the Hogwarts student body. 

The day was a bitterly cold one—the kind of cold that bit your skin no matter how many layers of clothing you wore, because it was just that kind of weather. 

None of these reasons succeeded in improving my mood, and I had half a mind to just turn back—

But I didn't, because I was standing in front of The Three Broomsticks, and I decided firmly that I needed a warm butterbeer.

Upon entering, I noticed many things:

1) It was practically bursting. 

2) It was practically bursting with scarlet-and-gold wearing Gryffs all of whom emanated _Look! Look! I'm a complete meathead! _

3) I probably stood out like a prickling cactus in the midst of an Alaskan blizzard.

Grabbing the nearest seat to the door, just in case I had the sudden urge to bolt, I ordered a steaming mug of butterbeer, eager to warm up and go back, then complain endlessly to Pansy. Betrayer. 

And so I sat in loneliness. Such a picture of solitude should have never ever happened—not me! I was great and loved and was supposed to be surrounding by almost-as-great, almost-as-intelligent people prepared to worship me.

All of this, while _Pansy_ was probably off somewhere, snogging her brains out. I was willing to bet that this boy of hers was nothing much, anyway. Heck, if she just wanted a good snog, she could have come to me, and I, being the great and _loyal_ companion that I am, would have obliged! 

Carelessly sipping at the butterbeer (even it did not taste up to par), I glared down at the shiny surface of the bar as if it were to blame for all my troubles. 

I was despondent. So much, that I really didn't give a rat's arse about the dorks and nerds trailing around me, nor did the mental note to take a bath to rid of such filch register in my mind. In fact, I wasn't quite able to notice anything—until, my awesome, great, stupendous luck would have it (please note the sarcasm)—it already happened.

" Oh, _hello_." 

Later, she told me that I had yelped. I sincerely beg to differ. Malfoys don't _yelp_. 

But it seemed as if a red blob had obscured my vision. 

" What the—" I shouted, instinctively backing away from such bright colors. 

" Oh! Sorry I surprised you." I blinked again and realized who it was. 

" Peppy." I muttered to myself, eyes narrowing. She frowned daintily. 

" Excuse me?"

" You. Overly peppy." I struggled to keep my sentences coherent. " Eugh! And _why_ must you insist on wearing so much red? As if your hair isn't red enough…" My nose scrunched up in dislike. Her lower lip protruded in a decided pout.

" No particular reason, really. I just like the color." 

" Well—anyone with half a sense of fashion would know that red on red absolutely clashes." I muttered sullenly. She literally resembled something akin to an overgrown tomato. 

And then everything was shaking because she was laughing like the world would end, tiny drops of tears forming at the edge of her eyes. 

I sat there feeling oddly humiliated (had a very nasty feeling that she was laughing at me) and confused, two feelings that I most certainly did not welcome. What was so bleeding funny?! 

" Are you finished yet?" I snapped irritably, eyeing the doorway furtively, because that urge to bolt suddenly came to me. She shook her mass of hair out of her face and let out one last sigh, before grinning at me.

" Oh, you're such a laugh!" She cried. I stared at her in horror.

" What?!" 

" Harry and Ron never told me you had such a wacky sense of humor—but honestly, _anyone with half a sense of fashion would know that red on red absolutely clashes_—acting like a pansy, are you? That's great!" She giggled in that annoying way all girls do, bringing her hands up to her mouth. 

So. Peppy thought I was a joke. And she was completely serious about it.

Trying not to glare too horribly at her, I swallowed and just pretended that I had meant it all along. At least this way, she wouldn't know how embarrassed I felt. And let me tell you, Malfoys weren't used to feeling embarrassed…it was…such a lower class emotion.

" Oh, yea. I am very funny. Act like it all the time to make people laugh. Foolish of you not to know that." I said nonchalantly. _Oh, you're such a laugh! _

I wanted to really leave now and simultaneously wondered what I had done to anger whatever God was up there. 

" They said you were absolutely horrid, but if you do things to make people laugh…you can't be all that bad, can you?" She mused matter-of-factly. But I'm not quite sure I was listening, because if I were, I would have called her a bit naïve.

Harry and Ron never told me you had such a wacky sense of humor-- 

Wait.

" Hang on—what're you on about, Potter and Weasel?" I squinted at her. " What's your name again, kid?" She blinked owlishly at me for a moment, like a deer caught in headlights. 

" Ginny." She said quietly. She was twisting her gloved hands in her lap.

" Ginny what?" I rolled my eyes impatiently. I smelled anxiousness. 

" Weasley!" She cried, refusing to look at me. I looked at her. Red hair. Freckles. Red hair! Freckles!! Why was I so stupid?? 

" No!"

" Yes!"

" Tell me it's not true!" 

" It _is_—Malfoy, why does it matter so much?" She looked very saddened all of a sudden.

Oh bloody fucking shit. 

" All this time I have been sitting here wasting my time, conversing with a Weasley." I said dumbly. " That is why it matters!" 

" Oh, don't be ridiculous, Malfoy. We were getting along fine until you found out what my name was. As long as we can have a decent conversation together, you shouldn't be prejudiced against me!" She said, eyes wide.

Oh, but she didn't know. I was NOT getting along fine with her. Nope. Not even from the beginning. I didn't know what was wrong with me, but I would start acting like a total bastard right away, if she assumed I was this nice all the time. I hadn't even meant to be nice…it was just one of those days, right? 

" I am not allowed to be seen with Weasleys." I blurted. I cringed at the words that had come out of my mouth. Whatever happened to _shove off, annoying little weasel—I hate the whole lot of you, and there's nothing that will change that_? 

" Why not?" She asked incredulously. Suddenly, I felt a slight pang of sympathy for her. She was _so_ verdant. 

" Er…my father." I replied lamely. 

" Oh." She looked at _me _with sympathy. Then she licked her lips and went on. " You don't have to conform with everything he tells you, you know. Break free! Rebel! Be your own person, and one day, break away from this life!" Her fist was up in the air, and her face was flushed with excitement. I looked at her like she was a total airhead, which, she was.

" I happen to like this life the way it is, thank you very much." I said haughtily. I didn't need some Weasley telling me what to do. She looked a little affronted. 

" Hermione calls you a sociopath, you know." She said softly, almost regretfully. 

I gaped at her.

" Granger called me _what_?" 

" Sociopath; it means, _one who is affected with a personality disorder marked by aggressive, antisocial beha—_" 

" I know what it bloody means, Weasley! Don't take me for an imbecile!" I barked. Stupid mudblood Granger. Once again, living in her delusional world where she is supposed to be 'brilliant'. Ha. 

I ran my hands through my hair, teeth grinding in effort to think of something to say.

" Alright—next time, Weasley, you go tell Granger that she's a stupid blockhead who doesn't realize that for everything there is a reason—ask her if she's ever pondered the reason, that I'm a so called 'sociopath' is because of disgusting people like her, ok?" 

" No!" She squeaked indignantly. " I'm not your messenger, go deliver the message yourself!" Suddenly, her tongue peeked out of her mouth mischievously.

" Or are you too cowardly to approach her? Because according to Harry, you're not very brave--Afraid she might slap you again?" 

How the hell did she know? _According to Harry…Harry and Ron said…Hermione said…_Boy, when I got my hands on those three, I would kill them. No, no. That would be too kind. Let them suffer cruel and unusual punishment.

Then, one of two things happened: Either, I grew inexplicably pale, or I grew positively pink. Neither idea suited me. Annoying, twittering weasel was giggling again.

" I'm NOT afraid of her. You best not believe everything they tell you—the little liars that they are." I spat. My mind was too flustered to come up with a half-witty response. It wasn't fair that wit should fail one when one needed it most, was it? 

" It's alright." She leaned towards me in a conspiratorial manner. I cringed, expecting her to smell like, oh, you know…_bad_, like a dirty Weasley should. Her hair tickled the side of my face.

" Hermione scares a lot of people, anyway." She said cheerfully. " It's understandable." I squinted my eyes. Why was she so understanding towards me? Something must have been not-quite-right with her head, because any other self-respecting Gryffindor would have fled at the sight of me. _And_ she smelled like strawberry jam. Definitely not right.

" Yea, yea." I choked out, backing away from her. " Whatever you say, Weasel." But I was surprised at myself. Contempt seemed void in my voice, and the term 'Weasel' was uttered in an almost affectionate matter. 

What was the world coming too??! Would I have to start rehearsing all the nasty things to say next time I saw Weasel? 

" My name's Ginny." She said firmly. " Not Weasel. That would be my brother." 

But my lips quirked up into a little smile, and a small voice in the back of my head (maybe my Good Conscience yet again??) told me, to hell with it all. She was strange, but at the very least, she seemed not to mind me too much. If that was a good thing at all…

The room I was in suddenly felt a little warmer. 

" Whatever you say, Ginny." 

A/N: Eh. I had trouble writing this chapter for some reason. Maybe next chapter there will be more action, rather than just dialogue, hmm? Sorry about the fluffy little ending, but it had to be done.


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